Nashville for People Who Hate Country
A travel review. A confession. Not a recant.
Country-music lovers, hold on.
I am going to explain myself, and I think you might empathize.
From the time I was born until I was old enough to negotiate radio channels in the car, “music” meant a flowing stream of Loretta Lynn, Charlie Pride, Conway Twitty, Buck Owens, Hank Williams and Jimmy Reeves. My parents were big fans.
Our family roadtrips were often three 12-hour days to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s — that’s 12 hours X 3 of D-I-V-O-R-C-E, “Kaw-liga,” and “Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone.”
I’ll admit that my aversion to country music was probably ramped up by no air-conditioning and the monotony of crossing Wyoming and North Dakota in the back seat of a station wagon, but the end result still meant eye-rolling and a mental rash every time I heard steel guitar or a heavy twang over three chords and a heartbreak. In my little mind, it was just so repetitive…and depressing.
Once I left home, I spent multiple decades avidly avoiding country music.
This became increasingly difficult, though, since I had married a musician who morphed from classic rocker to a new country composer…and started making semi-annual songwriting trips to Nashville with his writing buddy.
After several years of this, I had the opportunity to attend a professional conference in Nashville. Curious, I jumped on the chance and made arrangements to make it a couple trip with my husband.
Frankly, it wasn’t what I thought it would be.
What I Found That I Didn’t Expect
Nashville and area are beautiful and diverse — green, rolling hills, a bustling city that’s not-too-big and not-too-small, significant historical sites, a wide range of entertainment options, trendy dining with a strong lean to southern traditions, and an array of multi-genre options in the thriving local arts scene.
The people we met and venues we visited were casual and appeared to welcome the flood of tourists who, I’m assuming, flock to Nashville for an immersion experience in country-oriented amusements.
I flew into the city expecting Western everything and found, instead, welcoming and warmth everywhere.
And, pardon my prejudice, I also found depth, something I frankly didn’t expect and hadn’t imagined from my torturous hours as a kid in the car listening, involuntarily, to what I was sure was HICK FM.
The Music, First
Although its dominant industry is education and healthcare management, Nashville is best known as a hub for the business of making music popular and profitable…and for being discovered.
Music simply saturates this city, and it’s offered with ample volume and heart.
In fact, the quintessential “thing to do” when visiting Nashville is to bar-crawl on Lower Broadway to witness aspiring bands and artists. Every second venue, it seems, has an open front window with live music wafting or crashing out onto the sidewalk. We visited in the very late afternoon and opted for a quieter restaurant with local musicians, plenty of people-watching and authentic southern food. After dinner, we walked the length of the street, pausing to sample the dozen or more bands or performers at each watering hole.
I’ll admit it was a curious — and strangely inspiring — evening.
Another recommended walk in Nashville is Music Row, with a stop at RCA Studio B where Elvis recorded over 200 songs. Elvis. Even if his wasn’t your era (like it wasn’t mine) it’s an iconic milestone in the history of contemporary music…like visiting ground zero of a cultural explosion.
Also on Music Row, just outside the downtown core, are the offices of record labels and agents, usually in renovated homes with a shingle hanging from a post on the lawn and rocking chairs on a wide front porch, a charming way to reimagine “business.” My partner said, “It’s just their way…like you’re all at home.”
This “way” was also evident in the open mic nights that are a mainstay at many bars and eating establishments. This is not karaoke night. This is putting creative output and talent on display, hoping someone influential is in the audience. Sometimes the performers book ahead, sometimes they can just walk in and become part of the line-up for the evening. Everyone who follows the protocol gets a chance to be seen and heard, in some cases even if it takes till the wee morning hours.
I’ll admit it was a curious — and strangely inspiring — evening.
My husband told me that several establishments hosting open mic nights have the lucky reputation of jumpstarting the careers of famous country music stars like Garth Brooks and Alan Jackson. The Bluebird Cafe is probably the best-known of these. You’ll want to book tickets online in advance. We didn’t, and there was no way we were getting in.
Honestly, at first, I couldn’t have cared less…until we secured the last two barside seats at The Listening Room Cafe in the SoBro (South of Broadway) neighborhood of Nashville on a Monday evening and got to listen to five female singer-songwriters. Part of the Song Suffragettes collective, these multi-talented women offered up their own original tunes with consummate guitar-playing and distinctive vocals.
Seriously, my ears and mind were intrigued from the first sound-check. Here were vibrant young women belting or cooing (or both) from real world experiences and issues, taking a stand for their sisters in a heavily male-dominated industry.
(Total aside: the food was fantastic, too. I had a Smoked Turkey Apple Crisp Sandwich. Absolutely recommend.)
Later, while walking along the Cumberland riverfront, we happened upon the opening numbers of vintage rock bands the Doobie Brothers and Chicago in concert at the outdoor Ascend Amphitheater. The lawn seating was packed on a perfect June evening and we watched from a nearby bridge…until concert security escorted all of the freeloaders (like us) away from the outskirts of the venue.
Music simply saturates this city, and it’s offered with ample volume and heart.
Alongside scheduled events — concerts, bar gigs, and open mic nights — incidental music appears to be a Nashville constant. Walking into my conference at the super-sized convention center that houses the Grand Old Opry (fittingly called the Gaylord Opryland Resort and Convention Center — even though it’s really a Marriott affiliate) I and the other 4, 999 attendees were greeted by an incredible sisters duo that played non-stop cover tunes and requests for several hours before our keynote speaker got started.
Not once did I hear a wobbly note. And it was full-on harmony with live accompaniment. They deserve recognition, but I missed their names. Apparently, the sisters are one act of dozens…hundreds…that make up the aspiring recording artist scene in Nashville.
I thought, “If the not-yet-made-it musicians are this good, how incredible do the made-it ones have to be?” The competition for being discovered and securing contracts must be insane. I had to admire the drive these artists have even if I didn’t love the twang.
And then we visited the Temple of Twang…The Grand Old Opry.
I went because my partner recommended it.
I went so I could say I had been there.
I went because we bought our tickets ahead.
I went to say I’d done it.
And I was, frankly, enthralled. I didn’t love the country genre any more after a musical review of some veteran Opry persona; I didn’t love the genre more after a young-and-coming vocalist with spiky silver hair and a studded belt performed (although I was intrigued at the breadth of definition in “country”) and I wasn’t particularly impressed by what seemed like the tenth commercial for the sponsoring company’s ethically-raised chicken. (Part of the evening is a live radio broadcast with announcer, a core regular crew, and special guests.)
What amazed me was the excellence of the musicians and the passion they had for the whole country ethos. The music they performed, whether with a modern lean or roots integrity, spoke (or sang) wholeheartedness and dyed-in-the-wool dedication to form and purpose.
It was storytelling at its mesmerizing best.
And I admired it.
My Conclusion
Remember the classic joke?
“What do you get when you play a country song backwards? — You get your house back, your wife back, your dog back, your truck back…”
Before my trip to Nashville, I would have told it like a fact.
Since then, I’ve been paying better attention to ideas like this:
“Country is a music which was bred in poverty and violence, and is the polar opposite of the Broadway philosophy that everything will come out all right at the end. Baseless optimism is not on the agenda.”
(Brian Hinton, author of Country Roads — How Country Came To Nashville)
I now grant, for country music and its history — like I do for bluegrass, hip hop, the singer-songwriter acoustic vibe, rap and slam poetry — not just tolerance but credence. This is an art form that progressively reinvents itself and somehow, simultaneously, stays the same. The new reveres the old, the old offers the stage to the new, and they all come off as family…and consider you family, too, even when you don’t like their genre. It’s a little weird…but nice.
Despite my ten-foot pole touch, the overall Nashville experience gave me ears to hear that there is something here for everyone, even those who remain unconverted to the Country/Western thang.
It Might Have Been the Atmosphere
The stifling closeness of my family’s vacation vehicle made it easy to resent the country music my parents played for mile after mile after mile.
On the other hand, the ubiquitous aroma of southern barbecue, the exquisite natural beauty of the Nashville area, the feel and sounds of a city that thrives on artistic expression, and the magnet this blend is for local and visitor alike provided fertile ground for my growing acceptance of the country music genre and story.
When you go to Nashville, which I hope you do, be sure to sample the diverse options for eating, watching, walking, playing and listening.
If you’re like me, the music may not draw you there but the whole experience, ignited by your curiosity, is sure to make an indelible impression and give you something to talk about — or hum about — for years to come…and quite possibly, draw you back.
I’m already looking forward to our next trip.
